


Into Winter Now, Bittersweet

by revenblue



Series: [collection] but you keep spinning 'round me just the same [8]
Category: Phineas and Ferb
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Gen, Introspection, POV Second Person, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 00:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13019421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revenblue/pseuds/revenblue
Summary: There's nothing quite like spending a quiet evening watching the snow fall.





	Into Winter Now, Bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> Gotta love keeping in line with canon's level of ambiguous relationship. Feel free to read romance into it, or not, I have no objections either way.

It's still strange to enter in through the front door. Correction: to enter in without _kicking down_ the front door. But you suppose it would be rude now that you're not fighting him.

He's not visible in the living room, which is a worrying sign. It's not that you think he's gone back to evil, you know him too well, it's just that you're... worried. He doesn't handle being alone well at the best of times, and _today_ , well, not every day can be "the best of times".

So you're here to check on him.

He's leaning over the balcony when you find him, elbows resting on the ledge, clad only in a thin shirt and old trousers, seeming not to notice the cold. Snow dusts his hair and shoulders, enough that you suspect he's been standing there for a while.

You walk over to him, tugging at the bottom of his shirt.

"Perry the Platypus?" he says, glancing down at you. It shouldn't bother you that his voice is more flat than usual, but it does. "What are you doing here?"

In lieu of answering, you pull yourself up onto the balcony and stare out over the city, trying to find whatever he'd been looking at.

Beside you, he sighs softly. "There's nothing out there, I was just..." You can hear the hesitation as he searches for the right word. It's not often that you see him lost for words. "Thinking."

_Brooding_ , you think. He tends to brood, if given half a chance.

The only sound now is distant traffic, muffled by the still-falling snow. No tapping of his fingers against the nearest flat surface the way you're used to, no absent-minded humming along with whatever song he has on his mind, no meaningless rambling.

You shuffle along the balcony, leaning against his shoulder. If he's going to brood, he might as well have some company while he does it. It's like with his monologues. You know he practises them by himself, but they only seem to help when he's telling them to you, like _being heard_ is the important part. Sharing his pain so he doesn't have to carry it alone.

He's easy to read like this, without his usual façade of cheerfulness. You've never been sure how much of that mask is real and how much is covering up his fears and insecurities, and after what happened last time he pushed himself too far you don't want to pry. He'll tell you when he's ready, if he ever is.

Sometimes you wonder how much he hasn't told you. He still flinches at odd things, and you wouldn't even notice except for the fact that you've spent your whole life trained to notice everything, devoted the last couple of years to studying him in particular. Long enough that you don't need to _look_ to see the way he's staring into the distance, face settled in a frown, although you do anyway.

He's silhouetted by the lights from the city, stance casual. Deliberately so. _Practised_. His wrists are crossed, dangling over the edge of the balcony, hands unnervingly still. You're not sure you've ever seen him like this.

"Do you ever get the feeling that this is as good as it gets?"

The sound of his voice takes you by surprise and you glance up at him. Where is he going with this?

"I mean, look at me. I'm not handsome, I haven't really accomplished anything, I'm." His eyes squeeze shut the way they do when he's trying not to say what's really on his mind. "Will you stay?"

You place your paw on his arm and chirr up at him. Of course you'll stay.

The corners of his mouth turn up in a weary smile and he sighs, rolling his shoulders like a weight's lifted off them. "Thank you, Perry the Platypus." 

A snowflake lands on your bill, the shock of _cold_ making your fur stand on end. It's cold enough out here to make you wish for thicker fur, or one of his warm scarves to wrap around you, but he's not even shivering.

You're not sure what to think about that, really. He's mentioned enough about his past for you to know he's been through worse, what with standing in as the family lawn gnome amongst _many_ other backstories (your blood boils every time you think about that, so you don't), but you can't keep yourself from worrying.

It's just... something about him bypasses all your safeguards, your professionalism, the _distance_ you try to put between you and everyone else. Always has. Right from the first time you fought, you'd known you would never find another nemesis like him.

You still haven't, and not for lack of searching.

The searching wasn't your idea, as such, but as an OWCA agent you have to thwart _someone_ , even if it's not the man who gave your life purpose for so long. So you've been looking for someone you wouldn't mind fighting on a regular basis, and trying to ignore the way it feels like a betrayal.

At least he knows about it. That's the only reason you can live with yourself, that he's right beside you every step of the way. Criticising each and every single potential nemesis for everything from the scheme to their outfits, of course, but you can't say he's _wrong_ about any of them.

You miss fighting him. You miss the way his eyes would light up when he monologued, the care and passion he put into his schemes, even the traps. Sometimes you wish he hadn't given up evil, that you could still thwart _him_ like you used to. And you know it's selfish to want it, but if there's one thing Heinz taught you it's that you've earned the right to a bit of selfishness every now and then.

Before you'd met him, you hadn't realised you could make choices for yourself instead of only focusing on the mission. And you definitely hadn't predicted how _freeing_ it would be to do things because you _wanted_ to, not just because you were expected to.

Fighting him was both.

Not right now, of course. He looks exhausted, you're not much better, it wouldn't be _enjoyable_. Despite that, you're still tempted.

You stare down at your paw, clenching and uncurling it. All you can see in it is a history of violence, the bruises and broken bones you've inflicted, the years of training. The way it feels more normal as a fist than anything else. (The thought scares you if you let yourself think about it, so you try not to.)

Then, as if he could hear your thoughts, he takes your paw in his hand. He doesn't look at you as he does it; he doesn't _need_ to. Ever since the first time his fingers wrapped around yours like this, it's felt Right. Like this is the only place you ever need to be.

"I've always liked your cute little hands," he says, nudging you over to the balcony in front of him so he can lean against your back. He sounds more like his usual self now, brighter, like whatever cloud was darkening his thoughts has passed. "They're so strong and _great_ for fighting, and I don't _mind_ the bruises really-" Your heart sinks. "-but I _really_ appreciate the whole _saving me_ thing. I mean, it probably gets old after a while, it happens a lot, but you come through for me every time!"

It's... nice, knowing your paws are good for something other than causing pain and destruction. Knowing he likes them regardless.

He rests his chin on your head, other arm curling around you. "You know, if this is as good as it gets, I think I can live with that. How about you?"

That's definitely something you can get behind. You chirr quietly, leaning into him and his comforting warmth, and he exhales softly.

"Thank you, Perry the Platypus," he murmurs. "For everything."

Silence falls over the both of you again, but it's not an empty silence. And it's not quite _silent_ either, with the way he's absent-mindedly humming along to a familiar melody. It takes you a few seconds to place it, but you shouldn't be surprised he has Gitchee Gitchee Goo stuck in his head. After all, it _does_ have a catchy tune. Your boys are so good at what they do.

So is Heinz. He may not be a good _evil scientist_ as such, but he's a good _nemesis_ and you're glad to have met him.

Abruptly, he shivers. "It's kinda cold out here, isn't it? Come on, I'll make you some hot chocolate." He scoops you up, cradling you in his arms as he carries you inside. "You'd like that, right? Yeah, you do. Anyway..."

You relax into him, still warm despite the snow, letting his voice wash over you as he talks about whatever idle thought happens to cross his mind in the moment. And if you happen to let yourself doze off against him, who's going to complain?

**Author's Note:**

> This was my third attempt at writing a fic based on a specific song and _once again_ I failed. XD Maybe the fourth attempt will be closer.
> 
> Title comes from [I'll Be Gone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eG-ja6wpOa0) by Linkin Park, because I couldn't think of anything more fitting and it's a good line (and a good song).


End file.
